The First Punch
by M155 C0nfu510n
Summary: It's good enough, this relationship they have. Doesn't mean it can't get better. T for violence.
Not gonna lie, this fic gets a bit complicated with the repeated use of 'he', but you should be able to follow it easy enough~~ And if not, then meh~ :/

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He was so easy to goad.

The small twitch of his mouth, the slight crinkle of his eyes, the vein that was an easy giveaway of his growing anger, even the tightening of the fists coiled at his sides. He could just imagine the muscles covered by an infuriatingly _blue_ coat clenching in preparation for an attack that was forthcoming.

He was almost proud of the smirk that suddenly bloomed on thin lips, the glint that entered too blue eyes. The sudden swing of a fist catching him upside the jaw without any resistance or blockage, almost welcomed in its violent embrace.

The near cackle that echoed off the surrounding bricks was music to his ears, along with the added _drip drip_ of blood from the corner of his mouth. A tooth had nicked the inside of his cheek, the irony tang of his own blood filling his mouth in a familiar manner. He spit unconsciously, the red glob landing close to a black boot and ruining the pristine shine that seemed to brighten the entirety of the alley.

Words, dripping acidically and with an undertone of long-past humor, slipped easily from red-tinted lips, the pain spreading from his cheek a welcomed feeling as he pushed to his feet with little effort.

He could feel his own anger rising to match those of his once friend, the raging inferno bringing a magenta glow to his fingertips. A similar burn entered his veins at the feeling, the power surging through him unprecedented. Unchecked. Unbottled and ready to cause destruction. But the color that greeted pale fingertips was not the familiar red he had become accustomed to.

No, the blue- striking and cool and so infuriatingly _different_ \- that surrounded a familiar blade was not what he was expecting. He could feel the growl fall from his lips without consent, arms working under muscle memory as he was suddenly _so close_ and he could feel a similar fire burning under _his_ skin, but more controlled and almost coordinated in the way it flowed through his veins.

Their anger seemed to increase as they clashed. Bat against sword, skateboard against throwing knives. Blood dripped carelessly, a once white shirt stained crimson in certain places. A blue coat was nicked and worn through, hanging limply from shaking shoulders as their owner leaned heavily against grimy bricks.

A laugh bubbled through bruised lips, brown hair masking a cut forehead. Shaking hands gripped the neck of the jacket so close to his face, pulling, yanking the taller figure close enough to see the flecks of green that dotted his irises.

The familiar fire that raged behind those eyes was almost hypnotic in its chaos, fingers loosening just so as a question bounced around their battered bodies.

" _Why can't we just be friends?"_

A smirk, so common and expected, he couldn't help but feel honored to be graced with; such a familiar aspect of this person he once knew. The pain that was making itself known in his body was put on the backburner as his eyes bore into the one's so close, taking in the building mirth with apprehension.

He slipped closer, the fist closed around the neck of his jacket loosening as lips brushed against the shell of his ear. The warmth he'd expect to feel was almost muted in the hiss that feel from the split lips, the flakes of dried blood spotting his neck.

" _Because this is good enough."_

And there was something so compelling in his words, something he was not prepared to face yet yearning for nonetheless. The anger that once raged like an unstoppable inferno had dimmed to a glowing ember. The pain dimming to a dull throb, the hurt morphing into something almost recognizable. Intimate in the way it touched his core and left him reeling.

His fingers set the blood-speckled fabric free, the body so close to his own barely flinching at the sudden release.

He was frozen as he pulled away, a strangely blank expression contorting his features. Shoes clicked calmly, rhythmically, against the ground as he turned and walked away. Hands were tucked into pockets, the familiar slump of his back deepening as he entered the crowds traipsing the sidewalk, his pace offsetting the natural rhythm.

And yet he stood frozen.

A hand clenched before his stomach, lips pulling into a frown as he jerked his eyes away from where he'd disappeared. The alley suddenly seemed too quiet, too empty, no amount of movement or noise from his skateboard alleviating the droning silence.

It was only when he began parting crowds on the sidewalk towards the Homra bar that he realized just how fulfilling that encounter had been, regardless of how little talking had been done. The anger was present, as was the confusion, but the new emotion- the one born some time between the first punch and the second busted lip- was an almost welcome reprieve from the onslaught of extremities that day.

He could see their coming future as clearly as Anna's predictions, the confrontations that would ensue, the pain that both would experience, the concession after days (weeks/months?) of endlessly dancing around their own inner demons and external prejudices.

He smiled then, hopeful.

The first punch had been weaker than he expected, along with the attacks that followed. His own were equally subdued, teasing in their diluted power but vengeful in their precision.

Because he could (maybe, some time in the future) forgive Saruhiko for his betrayal, but until that day came, Yata would hold onto the promise that their relationship- regardless of how complicated it was- would continue.

Besides, fighting was half the fun.

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Did I do good? ;u; Leave reviews to let me know~


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